Blame, etc
by congregation
Summary: Those kids from the North side were animals. That's what he had heard. Especially the ones from the gutter downtown. Urban noir, multiple pairings, bad behavior with language to match.
1. Chapter 1

S.E. Hinton is the author of The Outsiders and the creator of Tim Shepard. I'm just here to play. Title and lyrics from the song by the Afghan Whigs.

**Blame, Etc.**

_Blame, deny, betray, divide_

_A lie, the truth, which one shall I use?_

**One**

It was his job to uphold the law, and so it wasn't that Officer Corson approved of the flavor of indiscretions the state of Oklahoma called "crimes against nature". Mostly, he just didn't care. If anything, he found the legislators down in OKC who spent their time defining and describing the acts on paper for the purposes of prosecution to be as disturbing as the ones committing the acts themselves.

_What kind of man doesn't like to get his dick sucked_, Corson figured. As long the guy didn't have his pants down around his ankles in a public park on Sunday afternoon, what did it matter?

But those kids up on the North side were animals. That's what he'd heard. Especially the ones from the gutters downtown. It wasn't uncommon anymore to find a couple ringin' each other's bell in an alleyway behind a bar. To date, Corson himself had only busted the guy-gal couples, but he heard things.

Bryan Corson had grown up in Muskogee. It was a different kind of town, and a different time, too, although only ten years had passed since his high school graduation. Tulsa was a strange town. Although smaller and less industrial than Oklahoma City, people talked about it as though it was some kind of boomtown-gone-bad. Like Deadwood during the gold rush- too much money too fast, a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah.

Corson ignored the warnings of his relatives in Muskogee when he got the call to join the force in Tulsa. He headed west seeking out his share of the table scraps leftover from that boom. A cop in Tulsa made a helluva lot more than a cop in Muskogee or anywhere in the state because Tulsa needed cops.

The same week Corson made his first bust for a crime against nature in Tulsa was also the week he paid to see it the first time in a converted theater downtown. What he paid to see was two girls together in a black matte-painted box about the size of bathroom. What he saw was most certainly illegal under Oklahoma law, and yet he made no move to stop it. He sat back in his metal chair, closed his eyes, and listened to the soft, urgent moans of one woman being worked on by another. She seemed sincere enough.

He opened his eyes when it was over and the women had moved out of their enclosure to cruise their audience for potential tricks. When she ran her hand over his shoulder, Corson opened his eyes and told her, "I'm a cop."

"Whatever, honey. If that's the way you want to play it."

The next evening, Corson came upon two young men in a parked car engaged in much the same act as the women in the box. He arrested the men because it was his job. He knew full-well that the so-called perpetrator was looking at up to ten years. The recipient would be charged as an accessory.

The accessory, however, was a nice looking boy from the other side of town. He had money and connections through his family, and he'd had a bad run of late. His best friend had been murdered the previous fall. He had lost himself, Corson's superior officer said. Corson was ordered to call the young man a taxi and send him home.

"What about _him_?" Corson asked his chief. He nodded towards the perpetrator who was handcuffed to a bench on the other side of the booking room.

"What about him? Book him."

"For what? It takes two to tango, don't it? If we turn one loose, don't we have to let the other go too?"

The chief frowned. He said to Corson, "Run his name. He's probably got a warrant."

And he did. He had two- one for under aged drinking and one for skipping out on a hearing. It was hardly conspiracy or murder, but it was enough to hold him overnight, and that's what the chief wanted. Toss the kid into holding and let it be known what he was in for. His cellmates would teach him a lesson or two.

He never made it to holding though. He asked for his phone call and told Corson that he was calling his mother. Corson stood nearby while the kid made the call and thought that the young man was strangely open and coarse with his language considering he was calling his old lady from jail at 2:00 am.

When the young man was finished, he thanked Corson and returned to sit on the bench. His demeanor was calm. He stretched one leg out and closed his eyes for a brief catnap.

Within fifteen minutes, three other young men arrived- all similarly dressed in jeans, t-shirts and leather or denim jackets.

"I'd like to post this asshole's bail," the apparent leader among them announced to Corson, who was now sitting behind the desk.

"Watch your language," Corson told him.

"How much?"

"We haven't charged him yet. You'll have to wait."

"You ain't going to charge him. He says you let his date…" At this point he looked back at the other boy on the bench, made a face and rolled his eyes. "He says you let his buddy go. What are you holding him on? Old shit, I'd guess?"

"Your language."

"How much?"

Corson relented. "Forty-five dollars."

"Renny, you're a cheap date," the newcomer called back to his friend on the bench. He pulled out his wallet and laid the money down on the counter in front of Corson.

Corson counted the money, noting blood stains on two five-dollar bills.

"What's your name, young man?" He asked.

"Is there a problem?"

"It's procedure," Corson told him.

It was not and the young man on the other side of the counter knew it. He smirked at Corson.

"Shepard," he said. "But there's a million of us, and we're each one more a piece of work than the next. You can keep yourself amused the next few days figuring out which one I am."

He stuffed his wallet back in his pocket and turned away from Corson. Another officer released the boy on the bench. He and his friends left the booking room.

Corson pulled an evidence envelope out from under the desk, wrote a receipt for the bail money, and then slipped the blood-stained bills into the envelope. He didn't believe for an instant that the boy with the bail money was stupid enough to just hand over the kind of evidence that could hang him. Corson could only figure that the Shepard kid was sending him a message.

xoxo

_Worth the ride or gone with the wind? More- yes or no?_


	2. Chapter 2

S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders and the Shepard Gang.

**Blame, etc.**

**Two**

"Whatever, honey. If that's the way you want to play it."

The words came out sounding tuff, or she hoped they did. Her heart leapt into her throat when he said he was a cop, and it stayed there fluttering through the rest of her shift. She didn't see him leave, and- although he disappeared without slapping the cuffs on her- Sherrilyn Reynolds half-expected to be greeted by the flashing lights of a squad car when she left The River.

First thing after her shift, she made a b-line for that pool hall where her brother hung out now with the hoodlums he'd aligned himself with since his last time in jail.

Her brother, Magill Reynolds, wasn't there. The Commander-in-Chief of the Shepard gang was, however. His name was Tim, and Renny had told Sherrilyn she could trust Tim like he was another brother. She didn't trust Tim Shepard any farther than she could throw him.

Tim didn't stand up when he saw her coming. He maybe leaned back in his chair some. Sherrilyn hated this about him: she had to stand before him like a school girl owning up before the principal about why she was late. She almost expected a spanking. Tim enjoyed listening to her concerns and then tossing them aside. He had the mark of a sadist.

"There was a cop in the club tonight," she told him. Calling it a club was so ridiculous it almost made her laugh.

"How do you know he was a cop? Did he show you a badge?"

"He said he was a cop. He turned down a private dance."

Actually, he hadn't turned her down, now that she thought about it. Sherrilyn had made her little smart-ass remark to him and then bolted.

"There's cops all over, honey," Tim told her. "It's like they can't leave us alone or something."

"He watched me, though. He saw everything, and then he told me he was a cop, and then he left. Don't you think that's weird? Don't you think it means he might want something?"

"You scare too easy, Sher," he said. "Perhaps this isn't the line of work for you."

Christ, she hated him. His eyes were like a serpent's- so dark that the iris and the pupil ran together into one empty pool, even when he wasn't high. His hair was dark, and shiny, and curly, and she'd find herself wanting to run her fingers through it if she gave herself time to think about it.

He tilted his head back and asked, "So does it run in the family or what?"

"Does what?"

"You and your brother- him going for guys and you doing chicks."

"It's just an act," she said. "For me, anyway. It's part of my act."

"What about him? Was he always that way?"

"I don't know," Sherrilyn said. "We don't talk about it. Never did. The only one who talks about it is you."

She hit nerve with that one. It wasn't a wince and it wasn't a smirk, but his mouth twitched. Maybe he wanted to hit her, but instead he rocked his chair back on to all four of its feet and stood up. He was maybe five-foot-seven, still taller than Sherrilyn and built like a middleweight.

Sherrilyn took a step back, and that put a smile back on Tim Shepard's face.

"Let me get you drink, Sher. Calm your nerves. Maybe have a dance with me. Your brother'll be back in a minute."

She knew better than to ask where Renny was, or all the rest of them for that matter. It struck her as odd, now that the weight of her story was off of her, that Tim was alone in the pool hall. It made him vulnerable, which was unusual. It made her vulnerable too.

Sherrilyn debated turning down the drink.

"I'd rather just get some sleep," she told him.

He grinned. "Am I invited? Is that on or off the clock?"

"I want to sleep. Alone."

"You ain't going to walk home by yourself. Not at this time of night. I'll walk you."

She opened her mouth to protest. She walked home from The River almost every other night of the week. No one had ever bothered her.

Tim said, "Your brother would never forgive me. There's nothing doing in here anyway."

Sherrilyn shrugged because it was useless to argue further. She couldn't imagine why Tim would care whether her brother had anything to forgive him for or not. She didn't understand their sudden allegiance to one another.

Tim pushed the door open and held it for Sherrilyn. It didn't surprise her; most guys in Tulsa still held door for girls, even strippers.

He walked beside her with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Occasionally, he'd whistle a few bars. Neither of them was inclined to start a conversation. It was almost three blocks before Tim spoke. Before he did, he slowed his pace a few steps and Sherrilyn slowed up too.

"See that?" He nodded towards a bus stop at the end of the block. "That's why you don't walk alone."

There were three young men hanging out, two of them leaning around the bus shelter and one standing with his back to Sherrilyn and Tim. His stance said that he knew they were coming- shoulders loose, fingers fumbling with something shiny, most likely a knife.

"Shit," Sherrilyn said.

Tim found that amusing.

"Ain't nothing we can't handle. Alone, though, they'd have shown you the time of your life."

"Do you know them?"

"In a manner of speaking. I wouldn't call them friends."

Sherrilyn wondered if Tim called anyone a friend. As much as he seemed to like her brother and tolerate his behavior, their relationship seemed to her to be business-related. What business that was, Sherrilyn didn't know.

"Shepard, ain't it a little late for you? Don't your mommy want you home in bed?" One of the hoods called out.

"Your mommy, maybe. I didn't have time for her though. I had to walk this chick home."

The hood leaning against the bus stop flipped Tim off. He looked Sherrilyn up and down with greedy eyes.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" He asked her.

She was sure he'd been in The River a time or two. She shook her head.

"I don't think so."

"Sherrilyn works at The River," Tim said.

Sherrilyn gritted her teeth. The hood looked her up and down again, his gaze never making it back up to her face.

"Yeah, I thought you looked familiar," he said. He turned back to one of his friends and said, "You'll know her, Tommy, once you see her from the other side."

Tommy said, "No doubt."

"Take it easy then, Shepard. We got business tomorrow. Don't let her tire you out."

Tim had paused to light a cigarette. He shook out his match, tossed it, and put a hand on Sherrilyn's back to push her on past. She straightened and bristled at his touch.

"Don't worry yourself over it, Baylor. I'll be there," he said.

Sherrilyn could feel them watching her walk as she and Tim crossed the street. Barely on the other side, she turned to him and hissed:

"Fuck you, Tim. Why did you have to tell them all that? Did you see the way they looked at me?"

"Fuck yourself, Sherri. All they did was look, didn't they? If they thought it was an option, they might have pulled you off into the alley for a lot more. You don't think I could've taken the three of them alone, do you? I ain't Superman."

"Then why didn't they?"

"Because they know who you are now. They know who you belong to."

"You?"

"You might say that. You're part of an organization. Feels good, don't it?"

Sherrilyn shrugged. It didn't feel good, really, but it felt good to be at the door to her building. She mumbled a _thanks_ and _good night_ to Tim. He held the door for her again, and kept it open, watching as she walked up the stairs under the light of one naked bulb.


	3. Chapter 3

SE Hinton owns the Shepard gang.

**Blame, Etc.**

Three-

Ren shook himself awake when he heard his sister in the hall. He'd had a long night, and he didn't feel up to listening to her shit. His best defense against that was appearing awake and alert when she came through the door.

He dragged himself out of the bed she would sleep in until late morning. A little water splashed across his face wouldn't have hurt, but he could already hear her fumbling for her keys. How many goddamned times had he told her to always have her keys out and ready? Screwing around looking for her keys gave anyone watching a chance to pounce- Jesus Christ, Sherrilyn. He crossed the tiny room in one step and made like he was making coffee.

"'Morning," he said to her as she came through the door.

His sister eyed him with distrust.

"What're you doing here? I went to that pool hall looking for you."

"You gave me a key. I thought that meant I could sleep if you weren't around. Hey, I even made your bed."

Sherrilyn looked at the bed and smirked. The comforter still bore the outline of Ren's body.

"You never unmade the bed. You just crashed. Rough night?"

"Not too bad. I just needed some quiet."

That struck her as odd. Ren hated quiet. If there was going to be music, he wanted it loud. He loved parties and loud cars. She didn't know a lot of guys of his persuasion who liked drag races.

"Why? What's happening?" She asked.

Ren shook his head and put the coffee pot on the burner.

"No, you. Elders first. You look like you been rode hard and put away wet. They didn't send you to work the upstairs, did they?"

Sherrilyn grinned. She sat down on the rumpled bed and kicked off her shoes. Only a brother like hers wouldn't care that she did what she did to pay the rent. He called the dancing "her art". She wondered if he'd feel that way if he ever saw her do it.

"No," she said. "Not for lack of trying. They've asked me. I must be getting old."

"You can still dance when you're old so long as you still have meat on your bones. Upstairs is for the tweakers- the ones who don't look good dancing anymore. Just stay away from the hard shit- you know that, Sher."

He was giving her a speech that he'd given her a hundred times before. It was a turned around version of the one she gave him. They'd be okay in the city as long as they stayed off the dope. A little grass, a few drinks now and then was nothing. As soon as they started sticking needles in their arms, that's when the trouble would start. They'd get hooked and their allegiance would turn from each other to the junk.

"There was a cop in there tonight. Scared the shit out of me. He watched the whole act, then told me he was a cop and left."

She still couldn't remember if she or him who took off first.

"What'd you do?"

"I went looking for you. I found Tim. He didn't seem worried about it."

"Yeah, Shepard thinks pretty highly of himself. He ain't as cautious as he should be."

Sherilynn nodded in agreement. Her thoughts wandered off while the coffee began to brew: how had Tim come up that was so different than she and Ren? How come he wasn't scared of anything when they had been running scared their whole lives? He had a little brother and sister that he claimed to look out for. Didn't he worry over them the way she did Renny?

"Would you know if him if you saw him again? Sher? Sher?"

Ren's voice jarred her out her thoughts. She'd almost been asleep.

"Yeah, I'd know him. He's a young guy. He looks like a cop."

"Well, let me know if you see him again, alright? You want coffee?"

Sherrilyn shook her head and laid back on the bed.

"No, thanks. I just like the smell of it. I want to go to sleep. There some bread for toast…"

She was almost out before her head hit the pillow. She'd forgotten to press him for the details of his night and why he wanted quiet so bad.

* * *

Magill Reynolds drank his coffee and watched his sister sleep. He'd only caught an hour or so himself, and his mind was still foggy. He debated just laying his head down on the table, but decided against it. If Sherrilyn had been to see Shepard, then Shepard was awake and wondering where Ren was. He'd want to be updated on the evening's events.

Ren downed the rest of his coffee and left the cup on the table. He closed the door quietly and checked the lock.

It was already hot on the street. Ren hated Oklahoma. It was always too hot or too cold, and the weather was always a threat. Tornados, blizzards, biblical downpours. A guy could hardly keep a car running will all that weather.

It was the demise of a stolen car that had got the two of them stuck here in the first place. They'd been on their way west from a stint in Kentucky- moving on from Ren's warrants or Sherrilyn's bad boyfriends. He couldn't even remember anymore. Maybe it was both. Ren always seemed to pick up a warrant where ever he went, and Sherrilyn sure knew how to pick 'em.

Ren wasn't much better, he figured. The first boy he'd tried to pick up in Tulsa was Tim Shepard. It went better than it could have. Tim turned him down, but told Ren he wasn't going to beat him into the wall because he figured it was every man's own choice what he liked to stick his dick into.

"Just ain't going to be me, buddy," he'd said to Ren.

His voice was mellow enough and Ren was just a little bit stoned so as to be brave enough to reply, "That's a damned shame. How about I buy you a drink and we see how it goes?"

Tim had said to Ren, "How about I buy you and drink, man, and I'll tell you how it is."

And he did. Tim had Ren made for the two-bit hustler that he was, and he said he figured he could use someone like that if Ren was capable of keeping his other habits to himself. Not all the boys in the gang were as open-minded as Tim.

So, over a couple of beers, Ren signed himself on to Tim's racket. In the course of making deals, he'd asked that Tim and the boys keep an eye out for Sherrilyn- make sure she stayed downstairs in the dancehall at The River. She wasn't no prostitute. She was a dancer, an artist. Ren told himself that, told everyone that, even though he knew she was on the grift same as him. Hell, Sherrilyn had taught him everything he knew.

And that's how it came to be. It was small time, sure, but there was a safety in small time dealing and protection. Don't attract too much attention is what Sherrilyn always told him. Funny advice coming from someone who took her clothes off for strangers.

The heat coming up from the sidewalk made Ren wish he hadn't had the coffee. The usual pack of boys at the bus stop- River Kings is what they thought they were- called him a couple names as he passed, and he flipped them off but didn't have the energy to return their taunts.

"Hey, faggot," One them called out. "I seen Shepard walking your sister home. That don't make you jealous, does it?

It did, a little. Tim wasn't the best-looking thing around, but he made up for it with bravado. Ren had seen Tim pull a gun once, and he liked the way the Shepard boy held it. The thought of Tim going for Sherrilyn made him a little bit ill. Sherrilyn's boyfriends always turned out bad.

Ren turned back and shouted to the so-called River King: "No, honey. It don't bother me a bit seeing as I's thinking about you all night."

He was far enough down the block that he knew they wouldn't come after him, and then didn't.


End file.
